The Case of The Black League
by Dark Glass Marionette
Summary: March 18th, 1898: when a young woman is found in the middle of Baker Street, injured and badly beaten, Basil and Dawson are involved in the Black League mystery.  Their intentions are unclear and they must be stopped before time runs out. ON HOLD.
1. 1: Basil of Baker Street

**Author's Note:** Finally I can upload this! Internet sucks lately xDD Now, first full length GMD fic and I think I am heading the right way, since it's almost finished. I am glad to say that it has a few Sherlock Holmes references here and there, so I dare you to find them, lol. Something I should add is this: Basil, though Holmes' counterpart, is_ not _Holmes himself. We have quite the idea of how Basil is thanks to the movie, but I have added some other things in here to give him a bit more depth. Now, I leave you to read: "The Case of the Black League."

**Dislciamer: Apply the usual here; copyright goes to Disney/Eve Titus.**

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I

Basil of Baker Street

This particular case is of extreme importance to both Basil and me, so much that I have been forbidden to publish it for my readers to enjoy. It is a case that showed me not the kind of calculating machine Basil could be at times, but the great pain that resided in his heart and still does up to this day. So important he considers it that he has requested and even made me swear that I would give him this part of my diary to read at night if one of his black moods assailed him. I'd like to assume it's with the purpose of making himself remember, but I shall never know for sure. After all, Basil is yet a mystery to me, a fact that hasn't thankfully changed.

It was a rainy evening of March, the year being 1898, when our adventure started. Since I had been kindly offered to stay at Baker Street, I hadn't noticed the advertisement on the paper I had with so much interest circled until, one day, I found said paper lying around Basil's untouched correspondence. In case I had for some reason move out of Baker Street -or for some other matter-, I headed to Wood Lane and had a look at said flat I had set my eye upon. I didn't find it to my liking after all the trouble I'd gone through to make up my mind, and eventually returned to Baker Street with strange satisfaction: at least I wouldn't have to leave my friend alone, no matter how much he'd wish for me to vanish at times.

When I stepped inside 221B and a half, the odd silence struck me. Normally, there was Basil's ruckus when working or his excited talking when musing to himself; now, our home was as quiet as a graveyard. Save for the cracking of the fire, there was no other sound to be heard. Basil was slouched on his armchair, the sleeves of his robe rolled up, fingertips together and eyes closed. From him, my eyes then went to the bottle resting on the side table. _Blast him_, I couldn't help thinking.

"Spare me this time, doctor. This one was a two-shot problem," Basil said so suddenly I jumped.

"What was it this time?" I inquired, taking a seat next to him. His eyes were heavy, his body was limp and he talked almost with a bored tone. It would take him some time to shrug off his state of lethargy. "Not cocaine again, was it?"

I tapped my foot against the carpet, watching Basil chuckle and smile. There was nothing I could do to convince him: he would not give up the substance. We both had enough with our pipes and cigarettes, and especially Basil where his health was concerned, but cocaine was his only vice. He had personally told me he would only have it when in a dire need of stimulation, so I couldn't help thinking another black cloud had settled upon him.

To my dismay, Basil nodded. "You guessed it, doctor," he breathed out as I snatched the bottle away. "No, no! Blast it, Dawson, I-" He groaned when he caught me glaring daggers at me. "Dash it all!"

I was not surprised at his nervousness and need of the drug, so his pleads did nothing to deter me. "You can smoke a pipe instead, Basil," I argued, putting the bottle out of his reach. I knew full well he'd soon be raving mad at me, but I couldn't care less. Basil hid his face in his hands. "Basil, you're putting yourself in danger."

"Peril, by the way, that has nothing to do with the one I place myself in when on a case," Basil said, swinging his legs over the armrest of his seat. He gave out a sigh when I didn't respond. "Before you take anything for granted, I am not fighting against one of my black moods, not at all, and it is no case I'm on either," he said, finally opening his eyes. "I just had to. Now give me back the bottle or I shall banish you from this home in Mrs. Judson's behalf!"

I chuckled, fairly amused. "You'd be coming with me then."

Basil released a hearty bark of laughter. "Ha! You leech..." I laughed alongside him; after that, he seemed a lot calmer, perhaps even in a better mood. "Blast it, this inactivity is killing me," he complained, raking a hand through his hair. "'Been here the whole evening in need of some stimulation and I can find none. I've tried to play the violin, but no inspiration would come; I have no chemistry experiments to perform and my cocaine bottle has been snatched away by a cynical thief of a doctor!"

"Cynical, you call me? You could at least care a bit more about your health, Basil; you're still too young to throw your life in the wrong direction." And I meant that.

"Oh, but my life's been quite fulfilling these past few years," Basil breathed out, stretching. "It's true that every moment that goes by I lose a fraction of my faculties, but you cannot believe how much the smoking -and ergo, stimulation- balances the scales."

"You should get some rest," I said, concerned at his weary countenance. "You look worse than last time I saw you, and that was less than an hour ago."

"Perhaps..." Basil murmured, shrugging. "Holmes isn't doing that well, either." And then, his countenance changed. He was more worried about our neighbour than himself. I was sure he noticed my astounded look, because he soon came up with a scarcely uplifting response. "Well, like he said, to each his own matters. Like me, he'll soon get over it."

I remembered the many times Basil had told me about our peculiar neighbour upstairs. This neighbour's name was Sherlock Holmes, if my memory serves me well, and like my friend, he was a detective of a strange sort. I had caught Basil spying on Holmes more than a few times. I considered it rather impolite, despite the vast difference between the bearers of the names, but Basil always said that it was for amusement's sake. Comparing his own habits with Holmes', he said, was what made him most enthusiastic, since he found much in common with the human detective. If it weren't because Nature's law, I dare say Basil would stay up there in 221B for the rest of his life.

I was overcome with unrest and sorrow. Basil had spoken of Holmes with immense respect and even affection, detailing his deductions and some of his cases with that romanticism he accused me of staining my publications with. I had never been more amused, not by the stories about this peculiar human, but because of Basil's excitement and gesturing. His dreamy tone and gaze haven't gone unnoticed either, contrary to his belief.

That moment of silence went by before he said, "By the way, I received a wire from Mr. Flaversham this morning, 'came in with the morning post. He told me that he and Olivia have successfully settled in Canterbury." He smiled now. "With great joy in his words he wrote that he has been praised for his skill several times now. I suppose it won't be long until he gets a position in a company, and oh! won't they have gained somebody."

"That's wonderful news!" I exclaimed. I was delighted to hear of Mr. Flaversham, since he, whilst Basil had been in convalescence at the end of their case the year prior, had kindly discussed with me his plans for the future, and I had wished him the best of luck. "Was there anything about Olivia?"

Basil nodded. "She was accepted into the nearest school almost instantly. As far as Mr. Flaversham has told me, she's receiving an extraordinary education." Basil flashed a smile at me. "Fairly worried about her, weren't you, Dawson?"

"I say, yes indeed," I replied, somehow suspicious of his smile. As I feared, Basil laughed again, throwing his head back.

"Oh, you shall never change!" he exclaimed amidst his laughter.

"Laugh all you want but unlike you, I didn't push the child away as if she were some sort of pest," I snapped, but I immediately regretted it. I had not meant it to come out as a harsh critic, and I feared Basil would take it so. But instead, he kept on chuckling and said,

"That's my disposition; what can I do about it?" Basil shot up straight abruptly, fiercely looking at me in the eye. "But I did tell you the reason why, now didn't I? Since I have," he continued, not letting me reply, "then I will not argue with you. In fact, you insist so much upon it that I can't help but laugh."

In the end, I sighed in defeat: he was right. After his tale of his early life experiences with Ratigan and how horribly their feud and enmity had started, I had never dared question his disposition towards children again. Nonetheless, he himself had admitted Olivia's naivety had been where her charm had resided, so I was led to believe that he had come to terms with her affection towards him.

"She was no pest, Dawson," Basil said. "Actually, aside from my hesitation, there is a trace of... hm, call it 'fatherly instinct' inside me that tends to come up. Don't look so surprised, chap; both of you were newcomers to my world at that time, and I sincerely didn't know which of you I had to look after the more intently. As you might suspect, Miss Flaversham got the good side of the stick that is my benevolence."

"You make it sound eerie, Basil," I remarked.

"Eerie?" He raised an eyebrow, stiffening. "It is simplicity itself! I would consider it stupid and cheeky not to warn you of the mistakes that many who know me have made when dealing with me. At the same time, I suppose you needed no help from me to know your way around." Basil smiled at me. "And I must say, you handled yourself quite well. Your modesty is a double-edged blade."

I was somewhat touched by the sincerity behind his words. Before I could reply, Basil jumped to his feet and stretched again, this time more energetically than before. "Well, I suppose that even under the rain I could spend some time on a walk. You, on the other hand, must be-"

" -tired?" I finished for him. "Not in the least. I'd be glad to make you some company."

My friend kindly smiled at me, discarding his robe.

"Most appreciated. Hm, I'm a dire need of a good book. Shall we go to the book store? From there, it's your choice."

"Very well."

"Finally some movement!" came Mrs. Judson's voice from the stairs. Basil smiled the widest smile of the whole evening. "I really don't like that smile of yours, Mr. Basil. You should listen to what the dear doctor tells you."

"But I _am _listening, Mrs. Judson!" Basil protested in lighter spirits. He briskly went to fetch his coat. "I haven't agreed to walk with him in ages; what harm can that do now? It's his recommendation, after all, that I exercise in times of ill temper."

"Advice you haven't heeded until now," I replied, laconic and pretending to be hurt. Basil threw his hands up in the air.

"Confound it, you two are in cahoots, I knew it!"

"In cahoots or not, Mr. Basil, you know we can rightfully scold you for keeping up such nasty habits," said Mrs. Judson, heading for the kitchen. Basil turned his back to her, gesturing dismissively with his hand, and Mrs. Judson flashed me one last smile before she disappeared. A familiar smell came from the kitchen, a mere waft that made Basil say,

"Upon my word, let's get out of this blasted place!"

"I say, you wouldn't complain about the smell of-"

" -Mrs. Judson's crumpets?" Basil retorted, swinging the door open. "Of course I can complain about that! You surely must know how unpleasant it is to leave for a walk with an empty stomach, and I can't stand that smell when I'm set on doing something. Blast her and her cooking skills."

I chuckled, amused, as we ventured outside. It had stopped raining and there was a pleasant smell in the air, much more pleasant than Mrs. Judson's crumpets' in Basil's opinion, I'm sure. Basil looked up at the sky and sighed. The emotion in his eyes startled me: either the cocaine had climbed up to his head or he was indeed in such a good state of mind, which wouldn't actually take me by surprise. It might've been cruel to have thought something such as that, but I had seen other cocaine addicts get like that or worse. Thankfully, Basil had quite a high tolerance, so it would take an overdose to see him out of his normal state when having received a shot.

"I shall wish for an interesting case... the sooner, the better, if possible," said my friend as we walked down Baker Street towards Paddington Street gardens.

But then, his wish was fulfilled instantly. A mere ten paces ahead of us lay the bloodied form of a young woman.

With that, our case had just begun.

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_A/N: Here's the first chapter. The case begins and our friends are on another adventure!_

_Reviews are appreciated!^^_


	2. 2: Here's The Story

**Author's Note: **Finally I can get up another update! Okay, a chapter which is much longer but has a more Sherlock Holmes feel to it, given the whole story-telling that's gonna take place. Thanks for all the interest you're showing, guys, it's really appreciated^^ Any typos in the chapter, name them. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: Apply the usual here; copyright goes to Disney/Eve Titus.**

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II

Here's The Story

Never in my life had I been so frightened by such a scene. I had seen many of my friends and colleagues mutilated and killed by Jezail bullets and other weapons of the sort, and I had hardened my heart enough to treat the wounded and state my companions' deaths with nerves of steel. That was what allowed me to carry on until I myself was wounded and sent back home.

But now, in the middle of the street and with somebody else in similar conditions, I was at a loss of words.

Basil was the first to react and hurried towards the victim. I was horrified when he turned her over and revealed her face. She had been badly beaten and was, rather thankfully, unconscious. Cuts and bruises adorned her pale face, her hair had been dishevelled and cut irregularly, she had a broken lip, and I noticed some fingers of her right hand were positioned in a dreadful way. As Basil gently lifted her up, I saw he had been moved as I, his eyes gleaming with fierce emotion.

"Hurry, doctor, no time to lose!"

We stormed inside our home and went straight for my bedroom, where I kept my medical supplies. Basil settled the young lady on my bed, who stirred as he hovered beside her. Once I had readied what I would need, I examined the lady's injuries. Her state was dismal. Aside from all the cuts and bruises on her features, I took notice of her dislocated fingers and the gash on her forearm, which was still bleeding. The injuries were recent, that much was obvious, since the blood had not yet coagulated. I asked Basil to jot down the time, then cut the lady's sleeve open. The gash was messy, to say the least. All of a sudden, her eyes flung open. Basil was at my side in a flash, quick as mercury.

The young woman shielded her face from view, yelping out in horror rather than pain. "Leave me alone! Don't hurt me anymore, I beg you!"

Basil and I looked at each other with our mouths half-open, both with the intention of arguing with each other about who should reply, until my friend finally gave in with that ghost of a smile I had so become used to. He gestured with his hand as a go-ahead and disappeared through the door. I turned my attention back to our newcomer, who was shaking like a leaf and whose form was racked with sobs. I gently tapped her shoulder, and childish fearful grey eyes met mine.

"No need to worry," I told her as reassuringly as I could. She eventually lowered her hand but not her gaze. "I'm not going to hurt you; in fact, I was about to tend to your wounds when you awoke."

She looked around in all directions, raising her knees to her chest. Good, at least her legs were still healthy. "Wh-where am I?"

"A safe place, young one," said Basil as he stepped inside with a large bowl of Mrs. Judson's full of hot water and a cloth swung over his shoulder. "Rest assured, we mean you no harm. My friend here is a doctor, rather out of the sort due to his efficiency. We shall do all that is possible to help you make a fast recovery."

The young lady nodded, calmer now after seeing it was not only me who held the white flag. She stole nervous glances at Basil from time to time like one who expects the unexpected. I administrated a small dose of morphine to numb most of the pain, and the lady's breathing quickened when she saw her injured hand.

"Goodness gracious, I can't believe that's my hand," she exclaimed with a nervous chuckle.

"In an awful state it is, my dear," I replied, compassionate yet steel-hearted as the situation required it. "I will have to set your fingers back into place."

"Oh my..." she breathed out, shaking her head. "Do what you must, doctor, for I cannot risk remaining crippled for life."

Basil gave an encouraging nod and searched for a splint and bandage inside my bag. Doing that which I had so many times done during my army days (and had already done a few others now in my clinic) wasn't too kind on my mind despite I should've become used to it. Our newcomer, obviously not unfeeling, was quick to give vent to her pain with a yell through half-gritted teeth; then Basil helped me apply the splint and bandage. I also had to give a couple of stitches to the gash on her forearm. The injuries on her face were easy to tend to and as I cleaned the blood off her features, I was confused, surprised and disgusted at the same time.

Our visitor was young, probably no older than thirty, and was beautiful in spite of her wounds. Her clothes were in tatters; _men's_ clothes, to be exact, and her hair had cleanly been snipped off.

I could only wonder who this lady was and how she had ended up in such a state; more importantly, and what disgusted me, was how could somebody be able of committing such atrocities. A woman of her age, beaten up as though a rascal? By her mannerisms, I knew she was of middle- to high-class education (Basil had rather nicely taught me to study body language), a fact which only added more to my confusion. I knew her story would captivate Basil's attention as much as mine.

Basil took a chair next to our visitor, examining her with a quick up-and-down glance. She didn't notice him, for she was fixing her hair as well as possible. "I'm most grateful for your help, gentlemen, I... I don't know what could've happened had I spent the night out there."

"Really?"

I pretended to have ignored Basil's sarcasm, and our visitor grimaced at such remark.

"Your legs are still healthy, aren't they?" I asked so as to change topics. She flinched involuntarily, drawing back her left ankle. "I figured as much."

"I-it's nothing; it's just a very light sprain, that's all," she stammered, flushing red to the roots of her hair. Basil smiled amusedly and said,

"I would recommend having that ankle examined. The tiniest of things tend to be the most bothersome, I can assure you." As she gave in to our request, Basil asked, "May we have your name, miss?"

"Frightfully sorry!" she exclaimed, apparently having forgotten my presence. That was much better: the less tension, the less strain to her already weak body. "My name is Elene Hardwicke, and-" She hissed as I squeezed the joint slightly; to her fortune, she was right: it was no serious sprain. " -and I'm pleased to meet you. You have all the thanks I could ever give."

In that moment, Mrs. Judson poked her head around the door with a concerned expression. "Is the young lady all right?"

"Yes, Mrs. Judson, thank you," Basil said, standing up to meet her. "If you would kindly prepare some supper for the three of us, we'll gladly take care of the rest." With a hasty nod, Mrs. Judson left downstairs, leaving us both alone with Miss Hardwicke once again. "Too many people in the same small room is unthinkable," he remarked, laconic, taking his seat again. "Now, I think introductions on our part are yet due: this is my colleague, Doctor David Dawson, and- well, I should think there is no further doubt as to who I am."

Miss Hardwicke's features lit up with a broad smile. "To have been assisted by such peculiar gentlemen... Thank you so much, Mr. Dawson, Mr. Basil." With that, she flung her legs over the bed and sat up, keeping a close eye on both of us. I found impassiveness written all over Basil's features, in contrast to his polite and respectful tone: he was still examining her, even beyond what he'd already collected from a first glance. I tried doing the same, but I could find no relevant information amongst the chaos of dirt and blood her clothes and body were.

"I don't mean to impose, Mr. Basil, but-"

"I am fully aware that I should not interrupt you," Basil said, lifting a thin finger, "but were you about to suggest that you should take your leave?" Miss Hardwicke's breath hitched, a fleeting moment of confusion passing through her features. Basil cocked his head. "I did assume as much. Where would you go from here, if I may ask?"

"I don't live far from here. It's just taking Paddington Street down to Weymouth, but..." Miss Hardwicke cleared her throat, looking away from Basil, who said,

"If you are in favour of leaving, then please do ask Mrs. Judson to help you out." Miss Hardwicke blanched and I glared daggers at him at the same time he added, "_If_, however, you'd rather follow our advice, then your best choice would be to stay here for the night."

Before she could protest, Miss Hardwicke was overcome by a fierce headache and was forced to agree. Basil left her with Mrs. Judson and dispatched the latter to fetch our newcomer some fresh clothes and with that, we retired to the parlour. I was vexed at Basil's behaviour towards Miss Hardwicke, something I did not remark about until he flopped down on his armchair and lit his pipe.

"My dear doctor, it's best to keep things simple," he told me when I expounded the matter. "She was more than aware those injuries would only get her nowhere or perhaps even further trouble." He sighed, letting out a large puff of smoke. "This is the reason why I say modesty, and not only yours, is a double-edged blade, and it would've brought negative consequences this one time. Leaving that aside, I find her to be rather interesting... and she still has her story to tell."

"Indeed," I agreed, turning my gaze toward the fire that had been freshly lit. "Why would she be dressed in a man's attire? So far, we've only come across actresses."

Basil chuckled. "Oh, those which are the most intriguing cases... I find nothing more amusing than discovering one's true identity aside from solving the mystery itself. To the matter at hand, though: yes, she was wearing a man's attire, which she most likely made up herself. Not only that, but with good-quality fabric."

"I follow closely, but I fail to see how her clothes were made up on her own," I remarked. "I did notice the fabric's quality when I cut her sleeve open."

"Elementary: under the light, I could see distinctive needle marks on her fingertips, which told me not only that she sews without a thimble, but that she started at a young age. The marks seemed to be old. I suppose that, whilst some must've disappeared with time, others must've remained due to poking the needle into a certain spot of close to it more than twice in a row. Also," He made a pause, during which he bit on the mouthpiece of his pipe, "she does prefer to work without a sewing machine, but that is just superfluous. Then there is the stitch on her left cuff. Remember how I first saw the Lembert stitch on _your_ shirt, Dawson?"

"How could I forget that?" I inquired, rolling my eyes. Basil released a bark of laughter.

"Then it's just that simple proceeding, my chap, only that she is no surgeon and that she did not have to deal with any gastrointestinal matters," he said, smiling broadly, "so you merely have to compare the stitch of a sewing machine and the stitch of a hand itself. You know it is out of chaos that I establish order, but I have not acquired any other piece of information, so you may sit at ease, doctor."

"I am quite at ease, Basil," said I, smiling. "But, in fact, most of the time I was not examining her, but you."

Without looking at me, he smirked. "And why would that be? You know better than to distract yourself."

"On the contrary," I argued, firm, "I was starting to think I'd have two patients' health in my hands instead of only one's." I sighed. "You look dismal, chap, worse than I've seen you in a while."

Basil shrugged. "I'm of no weak complexion, and neither do I feel tired nor generally unwell," said he, rubbing his eyes, "but I suppose _this_ has just betrayed my statement. In all honesty, Dawson, I'd rather you keep a closer eye on Miss Hardwicke than on me, just in case. When this matter is over and done with, I'll take the necessary measures."

"I am holding you to that, Basil."

We remained in silence for the next half an hour, seeking comfort beside the fire. I made a mental review on Miss Hardwicke's injuries: her fingers would take no more than three days to heal, perhaps even less if she was careful, and the smallest cuts would be almost closed by the next day. Mrs. Judson came by to let us know she'd be coming down soon, to which I replied in both my place and Basil's, since he'd withdrawn from reality like he did some other time. Dinner was served quickly during that lapse of time, and Basil finally stiffened when steps were heard coming down the stairs.

"Ah, here she comes!" he suddenly cried, springing to his feet.

Miss Hardwicke appeared before us dressed in a most familiar fashion. Her attire was similar to the tattered one she'd left behind, but both Basil and I recognised whose trousers she had been given: a pair of Basil's. Not to mention her (or his, rather) black waistcoat, which had a silver chain hanging from one of the buttons. Though her countenance was calm, Miss Hardwicke was still beset by unrest, not palliated at all due to Basil's intent stare. He cocked an eyebrow, his lips pressing tightly on his pipe, which made our visitor avert her gaze.

"Mrs. Judson's orders, I assume?" Basil sighed, leaving his pipe upon the mantel. "Oh, no matter; to be frank, I cannot picture you with a dress, regardless of etiquette."

I feared Miss Hardwicke's reaction, but it was an affable smile. "You're one in a million, so am I," said she, dipping her head slightly. "You can see I can't boast of... ahem, attributes, so even that I use in my favour."

I heard Basil click his tongue. "Dawson, do remind me _never_ to question a woman's sense of practicality."

Miss Hardwicke couldn't hold back a hearty laugh, a sound that lifted my spirits in times of so mysterious an aura. "Like I said, I am not like most of the refined ladies you will see in the streets. You see, I grew up in the country for most of my life, and my behaviour has not changed a bit. I am what we English would call a tomboy?"

"Quite the catch, then," said Basil as we took a seat at the table. "But tell me, where and when did you learn to sew?"

Miss Hardwicke looked bewildered. "But how'd you know that?"

Basil smiled. "It is my business to know, Miss Hardwicke, and no: I do not make wild guesses. I base my deductions on observation, not on the side the coin falls on. Like I told the doctor whilst we waited for you, I had examined your hands while he was tending to your wounds. You have a few marks on your fingertips, and their number and thinness point at those of a needle. You started as a young woman, didn't you?"

"Indeed I did! Right on both aspects!" cried Miss Hardwicke, bewilderment morphing into delight.

"Now," said Basil, "you have quite the tale to narrate if we want to clear things up, but it wouldn't make good table conversation. _Bon appétit, _then_._"

Whilst we dined, we entertained ourselves with topics straying from Miss Hardwicke's predicament thanks to Basil's manner of speech and the pride with which he recalled his experiences. At our visitor's request, Basil narrated some of the cases he'd solved in the past until my coming along, including the case of the disappearance of Lord Upton Trupshaw, to which she and I listened with great interest. Miss Hardwicke was thoroughly surprised and intrigued by his tale; so was I, since I had never seen him make any mention of the case that had been in every paper. Eventually, we sat in front of the fire, like my friend and I used to do almost every day of the week.

Basil once more slouched on his armchair, languid, hands together on his lap. "Right then, miss, if you'd be so kind to narrate the events which led up to this situation?"

Despite his position, my companion was somehow stiff, his eyes glimmering with emotion he kept at bay. I can't compare him with nobody else than Toby when the hound is hot on a scent: Miss Hardwicke had not even begun explaining when Basil's 'transformation' had reached its end. And there he was, cold and calculating as always. Miss Hardwicke fidgeted with her hair again.

"I say, why so nervous?" Basil inquired, turning kind eyes to her. "We don't have the misfortune of being vipers."

"It's quite alright; I'm sorry," said she, shaking her head. "I was just thinking of going to the Yard after this, or perhaps even now, but you'd all be against it."

"And on both accounts, miss," said Basil, stern. "Those idiots could get lost in Hampstead and not find their way back to the Yard!" He chuckled in a noiseless fashion. "Some are indeed at their best, but they lack –how can I say it- imagination! But please, pray begin your tale."

"My story's rather simple, really, but I won't omit any details. We are from East Sussex, born in a middle-class country family. My father started as the physician of our borough, then he was employed to be Mrs. Annabel Vaughan's. She was wealthy, having come from an aristocratic family herself, and had a keen eye to choose those who would make up her circle. Sadly, she had been a widow for quite some time. He and my brother led a good life, and he could sustain me without problems; my mum had passed away during my birth, God have her in His glory. I've known how to sew since I was six. Back in '81, when I was nine, we moved out of Sussex with a little economic help from Mrs. Vaughan and we settled here in Marylebone. God bless her, Mrs. Vaughan did not ask to be repaid. 'You have done more than money can possibly pay,' she told my dad.

"Since we weren't many people in the family, we rented a flat in Weymouth Street and there was where dad set his clinic. Our new home was spacious enough, so he could tend to his patients there more than a few times; others, he would go out himself. We were finally settled by '83. I wasn't going to follow my father's steps, but he nevertheless taught me all he knew aside from what I was learning from my governess; Amelia, her name was. I am good with numbers and I have a basic knowledge of anatomy. To get some money of my own, I learnt how to use a typewriter and was employed at a nearby tailor's, which is where I perfected my skills by sewing hats and all kinds of garments, whilst my brother got a position among the Yarders."

"Oh, a Yarder then?"

"Yes, sir," answered our visitor. "My brother is quite smart and can be observant enough when the situation requires it, hence the praise he gets from his colleagues. Despite that," (she chuckled), "he tends to jump to conclusions rather harshly."

Basil hmmed. "I wonder if he has that imagination about which I speak. He does not seem exactly your nowadays model of a Yarder; he's certainly from another kettle. One more question: how old is he, Miss Hardwicke?"

"Ten years my senior."

"Pray continue."

"That is how we continued our life for a few more years: my father with his patients, I with my sewing, and my brother with the Yarders. We lived fairly well, really. One day, he came home accompanied by a certain gentleman, well-dressed and soft-spoken, who claimed to come in behalf of a family interested in my father's talents and that wished to employ him. We were surprised to discover that this man was Mrs. Vaughan's son, Andrew, who, like his father before him had taken up a position as a physician, though poor Mr. Vaughan was wounded and killed in Afghanistan. Mr. Andrew referred to the Sherringfords, a middle- to high-class family of Richmond, who were willing to pay nicely for dad's services. You must know that we were baffled, all of us, since we realised our wealth would increase."

"Yes, fancy that," Basil remarked, smiling briefly. "I can assume your father accepted the offer?"

"Actually, dad negotiated with Mr. Andrew that he would kindly attend the Sherringfords in times of need, but since one of the conditions was that we moved a bit closer to the family's location, dad said he could not leave the business unattended, not to mention close it," said Miss Hardwicke, past indignation blooming and drawn over her features. "Thankfully, Mr. Andrew was happy with the negotiation as long as my dad was employed by the aforementioned family. And here is where the real story begins.

"Two months after Mr. Andrew's visit-"

"Excuse me if I interrupt," Basil interjected, "but do you remember the month and year of said visit?"

"Hm... it was on September, two years ago."

"Oh, back in '96!" Basil exclaimed. "September, a month during which the Yard was incredibly busy, if I remember correctly. What news came from your brother?"

"He told me of a series of murders that had taken place in Mayfair, Richmond and here, Marylebone. All the criminals were caught on the scene in every crime, so the case was soon closed with all those scoundrels behind bars. In fact, he partook of the action in both Mayfair and here, so he could tell me a few more details about them."

"Oh, I remember those quite well," remarked my friend. "I was almost involved in those. What-?" The pause came unexpectedly, and Basil's eyes widened. Miss Hardwicke gasped. "Is it what I think it is, Miss Hardwicke?"

"What am I missing?" intervened I for the first time in the whole conversation. Basil fixed a grim look upon me.

"If I am on the right track, Miss Hardwicke is making reference to the Black Murders that took place two years ago," he explained. "And also like she's said, the scoundrels were caught in the crime scenes. Inspector Kent paid me a visit personally to report such a queer situation. He mentioned that the criminals acted as though they'd wanted to get caught; quoting him, 'They hadn't even tried to escape'. These murders were the doing of a 'Black League' of some sort, hence the name of the case."

"That's correct, sir," Miss Hardwicke intervened, her breathing quickening, "but that's not the whole of it. My dad was a man of ironically fragile health, suffering from tuberculosis himself, and his state ended up worsening as '96 drew to an end. Dad fought against his illness with herculean conviction, and do excuse my vehemence but I find no other way to describe it. I will always remember this day: May the sixth, year '97. Brother found dad dead in our home that day. Poor man could hold on no longer and he passed away. He was declared dead by a colleague of his, Dr. Matthews of Westminster."

Basil's eyes met in a deep frown, his eyes ablaze with interest. "It's been two years since that event, and it had been five months since the Black Murders..."

"Dr. Matthews was dead a week later."

Both Basil and I stared at Miss Hardwicke in shock, caught unawares by her statement.

"My brother accompanied Inspector Kent on the investigation but unlike they expected, Dr. Matthews' dead was not caused by any natural circumstance. He was found with a nasty stab on his right side and a harsh blow on his left parietal. On the wall, the initials 'B.L.' had been carved with a knife."

"Strange I received no notice of this," Basil mused before shrugging nonchalantly. "Well, back at that time I was head over heels submersed in the Ratigan case; besides, I'm sure the detectives wanted to prove I was not their only card in times of emergency." He stood up, paced briskly in front of the fireplace.

"Obvious enough, it was the Black League behind that murder... You say this Dr. Matthews was dead within so short a span of time since your father's passing?" Miss Hardwicke nodded. "What do you know? Somebody was in a hurry."

"You're not implying they fled from jail?" I inquired, observing how Miss Hardwicke blanched. Basil hastily shook his head.

"No, not at all. What I am implying and what is in fact obvious is that the Black League has been re-founded, with different members that were aware of the original league's motivations. I am sure that they were hanged for their crimes, as much as I am sure that I will bring these blackguards to justice." His tone was vehement and determined, a passion in it I had not yet felt. "And then there is your case. There were no incidents since Dr. Matthews' death, weren't there?"

"Not that my brother and I know of. Inspector Kent kept him up to date, considering he and I had been the closest to him. Mr. Andrew Vaughan sent his condolences on a heartfelt telegram, and so did Mrs. Annabel and the Sherringfords. We had to sell father's business and return to our own jobs. After Mr. Smyth, the tailor, fell ill and passed away, I was left in charge of his shop, which is what I have continued doing all this time: taking care of it."

"Any other strange happenings from '97 to this day?" Basil asked, crossing his arms. Miss Hardwicke shook her head.

"None that I recall. It was an uneventful period of time, to be honest. This year came with no news of anybody, save for a wire from Mr. Andrew telling me I was more than welcome to return to Sussex, since Mrs. Vaughan had passed away from old age. I believe he's still in town; he hasn't left London save for, I assume, Mrs. Vaughan's funeral last January."

"And now, to the heart of the matter: what happened to you?"

"I was on my way back home from the tailor's in Oxford Street. I usually went past Portman Square garden. That day, I suddenly felt as if being followed, which turned out to be the case," said she, looking away from Basil.

"Did you recognise anybody?"

"No, it was too dark and I was too afraid to notice. I was just nearing your home, having come from the southern side of the street, when I was surrounded by... I think they were at least five people. I tried to scream for help, but I suddenly passed out. Before I did though, I remember one of them saying: 'A pity you suffer the consequences', and then they left me in the state you found me in."

"Hum! They used chloroform, no doubt…" Basil shot a fierce look at me. "And I suppose you came from Camden Town, coursed along the west side of Regent's Park and then came in through Baker Street with Rossmore Court Road?"

I nodded at his assumption. Miss Hardwicke was quick to intervene. "He wouldn't have seen me too well: the street wasn't that well lit, and I was lying in a rather dark spot of the pavement." She sighed at last. "I'm afraid I have nothing else to tell. What I fear is that this Black League may be after me."

"A queer and not so queer coincidence that both this league and the previous one are composed of exactly five individuals," Basil remarked, chuckling. "They will attempt to terrorise the public, I'm sure, going as far as to even do it in the middle of the street. It's to my dismay that I say this, Miss Hardwicke, but I believe that beating might have been a warning."

All colour disappeared from Miss Hardwicke's cheeks.

"A... a warning?"

* * *

_A/N: So, story so far: this Black League has got a grudge on the Hardwicke family... or perhaps not. We shall see how it all develops. After proof-reading, I realized I have made a reference to "Sign of Four"; if you look out (dialogue or story) for it, you will find it. I may have made a few others I haven't found, and I won't because I'm that clumsy xD. _


	3. 3: First Encounter

**Author's Note: **I am SO very sorry for so late an update, but exams have not left me alone, so hasn't stress. Now, in a better mood, we keep on with the updates. There will be another this Saturday, the soonest.

**Disclaimer: Apply the usual here; copyright goes to Disney/Eve Titus. Save for my OCs (which include Inspector Kent and the Hardwickes), all is theirs.**

**

* * *

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III

First Encounter

It took Miss Hardwicke a few instants to recover her wits. Basil had his stern eyes upon her, calm and patient, and I did my best to understand Miss Hardwicke's fear. It was a young soldier's fear of returning to the battlefield after having just returned from another bloody skirmish. Some time or another I think about my time in the 66th, hence my inability to draw examples from another more pleasant source.

"I would like to suspect otherwise, miss, but I find no other way to explain these series of events," Basil said, to Miss Hardwicke's dismay. "Let me give you a brief retelling of the Black Murders and the fate of those involved. You will find a lot of similarities- well, practically, history seems to be repeating itself.

"Like you brother must've told you, the victims of the Black Murders all revolved around a certain family, the Whitneys of Bloomsbury. They were a family of high status and held a position in society as Mr. William Whitney, senior, was a wealthy and prestigious lawyer. He was often solicited and made a good monthly sum of money. He had two children, William and Charlotte, who were in charge of the bakery their grandfather had left them. Mrs. Whitney, Katrina by name, often spent her days in the company of her children. Their income was steady, aside from the extra weekly shillings their daughter made from the typewriter. It all seems fairly normal so far, doesn't it? Well, from here onwards, we venture into the situation.

"Mr. Whitney had a wide circle of… let's say friends, and colleagues –lawyers, doctors and bankers alike. What people liked about this gentleman was his easy-going person and amiable attitude towards those of the working class, going as far as to lend some financial aid to an elderly mouse in charge of his hat shop. According to what Inspector Kent told me, he was respected and dearly loved by many. Late in the last week of August of last year, Mr. Whitney had to travel to Wandsworth to assist his brother in whatever matters concerned the two. He was there for seven days exactly; by the time he returned, two of his colleagues at work and a close friend, Miss Jacqueline Norton, were dead. Those were three victims and the start of the Black Murders, the dates being the first, the fifth and ninth of September, respectively, that last one the same day of his return. Do you follow?"

"It does seem a normal and relatively easy case to me," said Miss Hardwicke, hesitant. Basil punched his palm.

"Ahaha! But not for long!" he cried, a grin on his face. "It is true and undeniable that the perpetrators were caught and hanged for their crimes, since neither of them would confess nor repent. _But_ it was not until the end of the month that the murders continued and the remaining two scoundrels were seen and caught. This time, the pattern was different. A fortnight until the two next murders took place; have that detail in mind. The murders dealt a significant blow: the last two victims were Charlotte and William Whitney, senior."

"Great Scott!" I exclaimed, as shocked as Miss Hardwicke, who had visibly paled.

"I fear it may be so this time, too, and the family in question is yours," said Basil, fixing his eyes upon Miss Hardwicke.

"But how?" she cried, her eyes wide. "It's only me and my brother! There's nothing they would want from us!"

"That, we don't know yet," Basil replied as Miss Hardwicke stood, anxiety drawn all over her features. "It is true that you are only two… but sometimes, family extends even beyond your own flesh and blood." My friend's countenance was grim as he spoke, and he paced with his hands behind his back and head sunk deep against his breast. "Don't fail to notice that it is everyone related to the League's target that are struck down. Be it a beggar, be it an aristocrat; be it your average and every day mouse: no matter what, they will be dead sooner or later."

Basil fell silent, leaving us in awe and impotence. I felt as though a fifth wheel, but I soon had the chance to act by consoling Miss Hardwicke, who had leaned against the mantel for support. Tears began streaming down her face.

"Then everybody I know will be dead?" Her voice faltered, but not her gaze, which she did not turn away from Basil. "Even I?"

Basil sighed heavily. "Unless they are stopped, yes," he replied. "These sewer rats have fooled justice for far too long, and I shall bring them before Her or so help me, I shall never forgive myself. They have caused far too much harm and destroyed many lives." Basil grunted, shaking his head hastily. "It shall not happen again. Now, Miss Hardwicke, would it be alright if we went to see your brother at the Yard tomorrow?"

"It wouldn't be a problem; in fact, I am in need of seeing him," said she, wiping her eyes dry. "Dr. Dawson would come too, am I correct?"

Basil smiled calmly, his gleaming eyes on me. "It is both or none of us, miss." There was a light caustic tinge in his words, something that both upset me and touched my heartstrings. "May we have your brother's name?"

"Elias," said Miss Hardwicke, looking down at the fire. "Mr. Basil, what would these people want with us? I can't stop wondering; whatever they are trying to punish us for, we are not to blame for anything!" I laid a hand on her shoulder, and she suddenly seemed older than she really was.

"I'm afraid it's too early to make assumptions," said he with a sigh. "Since none of the original League's members confessed their intentions against the Whitney family, I cannot imagine what their purpose is this time with yours. None the less," he added, nearing Miss Hardwicke, "I shall try my best to obtain as much information from Inspector Kent as possible, even if I have to pry it out of him or find myself face-to-face with the higher ups. Something I can put my finger on is that it's either revenge or simple dastardly crimes with terror as their only profit, not to mention money. After we talk with your brother tomorrow, I will dispatch a wire to Mr. Andrew Vaughan and request his presence. Have you any idea of where he could be now? He does seem a busy mouse."

"Elias will know better than me, I'm sure," said Miss Hardwicke, glancing at me for a moment. "I think, though, he lived quite near to the Yard."

"I'd say there's nothing more, then, no other details? No? Well, we should retire for today. Another busy period is nigh."

Miss Hardwicke bid us good-night when Mrs. Judson came to fetch her and show her to her room. I was on my way too when I felt a tug at my sleeve; I looked back and saw a familiar glint in my friend's eyes: there was something else. With no other word, he marched upstairs at the same time Mrs. Judson came down again and left Baker Street for the night.

Once we were all settled, I heard a knock on my door at around eleven and Basil slipped inside, silent as a ghost.

"I find no heads or tails to this case, Dawson. I deserve to be kicked from here to Lewisham, for amusement's sake," he told me, ruffling his hair and pacing up and down. "Some things are clear, such as the perpetrators of these cruel atrocities and who they are after, but I am still unaware of their ulterior motives. Hm, I think not even a dose of cocaine would help, and not at this time of the night."

"We'll find answers tomorrow, I'm sure," said I, trying to instil some confidence in him. "We have but started, Basil."

"I don't doubt that." But Basil's reply came unusually subdued and absentminded. I sighed in concern, something he paid no attention to, and remained with his gaze fixed upon the floor. He was thinking, or perhaps not, but my worry for him was growing.

"Basil?"

"Yes, doctor?"

"What's bothering you, old fellow?"

I received no answer at first but eventually, Basil gave in. "You know I am not especially keen of dealing with women, but I was certainly shocked to see Miss Hardwicke in such a state. It reminded me of one of my old cases, in which the victim was even worse, and, honestly, I felt as impotent as I have felt today whilst you were treating her wounds." He chuckled, bitter. "Confound it, I'm only-"

" –wasting my time?" I finished for him, smirking. Basil stared at me, blinking several times. "You should know that that feeling is everybody's, even an expert surgeon's who, despite his experience, would not know how to tend to a soldier that has been maimed for life. Mind you, I have met such people."

"I'm sorry; perhaps I… perhaps I'm letting this case affect me more than it should, and it's merely begun." In the end, he smiled. "I should know better. Thank you, though; I shall sleep at ease tonight."

"Try to, at least, if you can't sleep soundly," I told him. "As you said, we have much ahead of us."

"Reason speaks! I shall be off now." And with a trace of a smile, Basil left my room. I spent a good thirty minutes musing upon the case, trying to uncover any hidden details like Basil would, but it only seemed more confusing the more I thought about it. Eventually, I fell asleep.

-.-

_I will jot this down, doctor, in case I forget what we have talked about several times already. Also, this is here for your own enjoyment and if the want of character analysis appeases you._

_The next day I was up quite early, before Mrs. Judson had arrived –I do believe it was fifteen past five-, and whilst passing through the kitchen to the parlour, I received a somewhat nasty surprise: the door was ajar. Miss Hardwicke was already up (it was strange for a lady such as her, wasn't it?), and I found her sitting in front of the embers of last night's fire. I crept up behind her, placed myself at her side, and so submersed was she in her own thoughts that she failed to notice me. When she did, it was with a long gasp in shock. She scrambled to her feet and straightened her clothes (which were still mine, I tell you), all the while I watched on with amusement. _

"_I did not mean to scare you," I told her as she regained her wind, "but isn't it a bit early to rise?" _

"_I… I couldn't sleep, Mr. Basil," she told me. Her mannerisms were remarkably strange: it was as if she had never been close to a man, all meek and hesitant, as if she'd led a secluded life. At the same time, it surprised me that she had shown herself to be comfortable in our presence. Doctor, I shall never understand women, and neither do I have the intention. _

"_I am an early riser, too," she added, finally looking up at me. "I was always up before Mr. Smyth to tend to the shop and rearrange it as neatly as possible for the day."_

"_Old habits die hard, I suppose." It was an idle comment, just to show I was indeed listening and playing along, but I was concentrated on her hair. As you perhaps noticed before me, her haircut was odd, not to mention improper, since __it had been cut diagonally and her right side had been left longer than her left. I decided to remark upon it, because it presented me with a singular opportunity to acquire information. And so, I did, but that information did come at a price._

"_Miss Hardwicke," I called, and she turned, "you didn't cut your hair in such a way, did you?"_

"_No," (of course she hadn't, blast it), "it was one of my attackers__; I don't know which, sadly. I had it wavy, a bit past my shoulders, and I was planning to have it cut a lot shorter to match my appearance. In the meantime, I gathered it up with pins as well as I could and used a top hat from time to time; others, I would just wear my hair loose... with top hats, too."_

_I was and will not __(__ever__) be up to date on women's fashion, but even that was strange to me. I had a glance at her hair. Her fringe had been left untouched, out of which I deduced that her attackers had done it to humiliate her, not caring about how they did it, and the yank had been harsh and uncalculated. Also, if I may add, the scoundrel who'd done it was left-handed, aside from the other details you already know._

"_May I… May I have a __closer look at your hair?" Before Miss Hardwicke could muster a reply, I added, "It will provide some information about the perpetrators."_

_That, Dawson, was the price I had to pay. I have neither an aversion to women nor I am extremely fond of them, you must surely know that, but it was the first time in my life I had ever come into physical contact with a young lady. _

_With a hesitant nod and an intent stare that never left me, she allowed me. I circled her and lifted up some strands of her hair in my hand. There were details that revealed facts about these people, most specifically the one who took care of snipping her hair off. I could also smell faint traces of creosote, which pointed me in another direction. It took me mere moments to obtain some more clues. _

"_Thank you; it was most useful," I told her, stepping in front of her. "Rest assured, it all points in a positive direction." There were no false hopes to instil within that statement: you see it did lead us somewhere. _

"_You're welcome; anything to lend a helping hand," she said with a smile. "Mr. Basil?"_

"_Yes?"_

"_Thank _you_," said Miss Hardwicke, blushing, "for helping me. Like I said, you have all the thanks I could ever give. I'll do whatever I can to repay you."_

"_You will not, unless I have changed my mind by the end of this case," I told her, shooting her a sideways glance. It was then and only then that I realised how close we were to each other, and there was unrest again, tapping on my shoulder. It was the precedent to a situation that, as you know, never took place and never shall, for –in need of a better metaphor- loneliness is the only mistress I will ever devote myself to. And you might wonder, why then did I accept you as my friend and colleague? Ah, you shall never know._

_I spent quite some time engaged in a conversation with a wide variety of topics, but there came a time when she spoke of her father and brother with the immortal and omnipresent affection of a loving daughter and sister. She was quite versatile when it came to establishing relationships with people; she even mentioned a most peculiar family down in Moorgate of which she was quite fond, and like the country girl she was, she had a passion for drawing landscapes and specimens of fauna and flora. _

_These are details that are, whilst not entirely superfluous to me, still unnecessary, but I shall rely them on to you, since she told me things you would never have known._

_Eventually, Mrs. Judson came and you appeared._

_From here on, I shall leave it up to you._

-.-

Damnation, Basil, you're too old for this, aren't you? But I never understood your sense of humour, so I will make no remark upon it.

When I awoke the next morning, I was (undoubtedly) surprised to see my friend and Miss Hardwicke already seated at the table. Basil was the first to notice me and kindly bade me welcome. Miss Hardwicke looked much better than the night before; rest could work literal wonders. Some of the less severe scratches on her face were already healed, and the more serious ones were starting to close. One of those, perhaps even both, would end up scarring her features. I asked about her hand, about which Miss Hardwicke told me that whilst it still hurt, it was nothing compared to what she'd felt last night.

"It was not in vain that I said the doctor is from a different kettle precisely because of his efficiency," Basil said with a smile. He was in a better mood that morning, and I could only wish for those light spirits to accompany him for what was left of the day. We had breakfast in relative silence and by fifteen to ten we were on our way to Mouseland Yard.

Basil did not speak a word. One moment he was staring at Miss Hardwicke; the other, outside, but I could tell he wasn't too deep in thought. It was the first time that I found his gaze unnerving, so much it struck me. Whatever he was looking for, he still hadn't found it. We reached the Yard in less than twenty minutes, where we found Inspector Kent along with a keen-faced, smiling gentleman with whom he was chatting with. Basil briskly walked up to them, his countenance changing visibly.

"Glad to see you, Mr. Basil!" Inspector Kent said, shaking Basil's hand.

"Morning, inspector. Ah, Mr. Elias Hardwicke, am I correct?" He turned to the gentleman, who eyed Basil with surprise.

"Basil of Baker Street, yes?" Mr. Hardwicke and Basil shook hands, the former with a wider smile. "Glad to make your acquaintance, sir." His eyes went wide when he saw his sister behind me. "Heavens above, Elene!" he cried, pulling Miss Hardwicke into a brief but heartfelt embrace. At my side, Inspector Kent was baffled. "My God, what happened to you?"

"Dear miss, what happened?" asked the inspector, blanching slightly.

"May I introduce you to my colleague, Dr. Dawson, who took care of your sister when we found her injured in Baker Street," Basil said. Mr. Hardwicke shook hands with me more baffled than before, then looked at Basil. "We shall explain everything in due time. Now, Mr. Hardwicke, we've come here in need of information you hold."

"What would that be about?"

"I suggest we go inside, if that's not a problem, inspector."

"At all. Come in then."

Once we were inside, Basil opened fire with a question. "Inspector Kent, you're still familiar with the Black Murders, yes?"

The inspector visibly shivered. "Don't remind me; one of the most awful experiences so far," he said, leading us up the stairs to his office. "I'm sure Inspector Hardwicke has it a bit fresher than me."

"What a tragedy!" cried Mr. Hardwicke, shaking his head. "I've been around ten years, perhaps more, in the force and, whilst I've seen a few things now, I have to say I will take some more time to get used."

"Fifteen, you forgetful pillock!" snapped Inspector Kent with a smirk. "Well, to what do we owe your kind visit, Mr. Basil?"

We were led inside a small room, most likely the inspector's office, and once out of earshot, Basil began explaining. "I am here to request both your assistance and Mr. Hardwicke's."

Inspector Kent chuckled. "Don't know how to play your cards?"

Basil smiled gently. "On the contrary, inspector, I have just played them accordingly by visiting you."

The inspector cocked a suspicious eyebrow at Basil.

"What kind of investigation are you conducting now, Mr. Basil?" asked Mr. Hardwicke, concern passing through his features.

"Last night, as I've told you, we found Miss Hardwicke near our home in Baker Street. She was badly injured, having been bea1ten up by a band of scoundrels, hence her paleness, cuts on her face and her remarkable haircut. She kindly relayed most useful information about your family and how she came to know about the Black Murders, about which you told her, am I correct? Well, the Black League is at large once more."

"By Jove!" cried Elias Hardwicke, taken aback. "Are you saying my sister was attacked by them?"

"Surely enough."

"But why? What would they want with us?"

"That's exactly what I am wondering, Elias," said Miss Hardwicke. "Do you remember when we were told of Dr. Matthews' death?"

"Another tragedy; he was a good person, yes."

"It's going to be like two years ago, then, I guess?" inquired Inspector Kent, gazing at Basil. "The Whitney case?"

"I'm afraid so," said he, rubbing his chin pensively. "The Black League, despite having been inactive thus far, did not change their _modus operandi_ in any way back in their time, going as far as to remain in the vicinity and waiting for you to come and arrest them."

"Aye, the scoundrels…" murmured the inspector.

"But if the Black League is after us, it doesn't make any sense that they didn't kill Elene," remarked Mr. Hardwicke, resting his hands on his sister's shoulders. "I can't tell you how glad I am to have her back without any severe injury, truly, but I fear there is something more sinister behind this."

"Sinister enough indeed," Basil agreed. "Inspector Kent, was there any stain in Mr. Whitney senior's reputation?"

"Well, Mr. Whitney had wronged Mrs. Woods, the convict Jason Woods' wife, long before the case started because he mistook her for a prostitute. We have notice of only that."

"And on Mr. Hardwicke's?"

"Basil!" I cried. The Hardwickes were visibly hurt by Basil's inquiry, but not even Inspector Kent's displeased expression would deter him from getting his answer.

"Our father was a respectable man!" cried Mr. Hardwicke in indignation. Basil raised his hands, solemn.

"I beg that you don't misunderstand me, Mr. Hardwicke," said he, calm. "I doubt that your father had committed an act of such sort or of any other, but I don't think these low-lives chose to beat Miss Hardwicke for fun, no. The Black League's motive is revenge; it always was and always will be. If by some unfortunate circumstance that isn't the case and the blackguard's statement was a ruse to intimidate Miss Hardwicke, then it is to satisfy their thirst for depravity. Remember that the victims were always the closest people to Mr. Whitney, and he eventually met their same fate."

Mr. Hardwicke was startled, confused. "What statement?"

"I told Mr. Basil that those people said I was suffering the consequences of something," Miss Hardwicke told her brother. "Perhaps something father did. It does seem like there are more secrets to our family than we were aware of."

Mr. Hardwicke sighed, lowering his head. "Forgive me, sir. Then our dad did do something, after all."

"What that was, we shall find out in time," said Basil, reassuringly. Elene Hardwicke gently took her brother's hand.

"Elias, Mr. Basil inquired as to Mr. Andrew's address. I thought you might remember," said she. Mr. Hardwicke nodded.

"And I still do, indeed. He lives quite nearby, in Knightsbridge, hence my stumbling upon him on my way home."

"What exactly happened that night, sir?" asked Inspector Kent.

"Hm… I had just stepped outside after organising my office and completing some reports when I heard somebody calling out to me. I didn't recognise the person at first, but the voice was familiar, and then I found myself face-to-face with Mr. Andrew Vaughan. We engaged in a long conversation and spoke of every-day matters and our lives, since we had departed for London long before he did and had only seen him once out of just a glance, and upon reaching Hans Place he presented me with an offer for our dad."

"Which was to be in the employ of the Sherringfords?"

"Aye. Mr. Andrew was the Sherringfords' personal financial manager. When he told us about the poor state of Mr. Sherringford, dad couldn't help feeling sorry for the mouse. After a few negotiations, dad accepted the offer and from that day forth, he assisted the Sherringfords as many times as they needed it. It was quite the push for us. With the sum of money Mr. Andrew had promised, we knew both our prestige and wealth would increase. We're not ambitious people, no sir, but we wanted some stability in our life."

"So I see…" murmured Basil, closing his eyes.

"We're still in debt with him, in fact."

Basil spoke no other word. Then, I asked, "I know touching upon so delicate a matter such as this may be improper, but your father passed away from tuberculosis last year, did he not?"

Mr. Hardwicke nodded sadly. "Indeed. He'd been fighting it for several years –I dare say since the days I was capable enough to help him with his patients-, and with great determination too. Last year, he ran his very last miles."

"Quite sorry to hear that."

"It's no problem now," said Mr. Hardwicke with a brief smile. "With each other by our side, we've pulled through fantastically. We were also quite distraught after Dr. Matthews' death, poor fellow, but death is inevitable. Mr. Basil, what can be said about our father and the Black League?"

"That they were waiting for him to die."

All colour vanished from Mr. Hardwicke's face, and his sister's knees failed her for a brief moment.

"Allow me to speak with all openness," said Basil, his tone a lot softer, "for hiding the truth would be foolish no matter how cruel it can be. The Black League was after your father for his wrong-doing, whatever that could've been, and wanted to have their revenge. But they did not make a move against him: they waited for him to die of his illness. Then came Dr. Matthews' murder a week later, which does differ from the original League's pattern of four days between each murder."

"But why the hiatus then?" I inquired.

"There is a logical reason behind that inactivity of theirs."

"What would that be?" asked the inspector.

"Miss Hardwicke, did many people know about your habits?"

"No, not many. Just Elias, my father until his passing and Mr. Smyth, also until his passing. From then on, I have made acquaintances, but none that required giving details of my personal life."

"And save for them, nobody else knew which streets you took to get back from Oxford Street to Weymouth?"

"None. I did tell Elias that I would take the usual route that night, since we were supposed to meet at Regent's Park. He told me that he wouldn't make it, since he had important matters to attend to."

"That is correct."

"And there, my friends, is the answer to our question," Basil said, smiling with confident glee. "They have been observing her all this time. No, I'm wrong: they've been observing _both_ of you. Doesn't it relate to the end of the murders last year, inspector?"

Basil cocked an eyebrow at Inspector Kent who, after a moment's thought, stared at Basil in shock. "That's it! That's the reason behind the change!"

"I'm glad you follow me. Besides, we shall have these scoundrels behind bars in less than a fortnight! Have this in mind: the original Black League took four days between each murder between dealing the final blow, which was two weeks after the third murder, by the end of the month. I can say we are dealing with less experienced people, but none-the-less equally efficient. Now, would you be so kind as to take us to Mr. Vaughan's address?"

"It will be my pleasure, Mr. Basil," spoke Mr. Hardwicke with a fervent nod.

"In the meantime, inspector, make sure to get as much information on last year's case as possible. I did not forget or overlook your two reports, but I need details, data."

"Very well," said Inspector Kent. An instant later, he smiled a contemptuous smile. "Shall I hold you responsible for your inquiries and allow you to handle Inspector Vole?"

Basil snorted. "I can take him easily. I am an official consulting detective, after all, and may I remind you that the Yard has taken the credit for most of the cases _I_ helped you follow the right track of?" He chuckled. "Good day, inspector! Come along, then."

We made our way outside, leaving behind a scowling Kent. As we walked, Basil burst into a fit of hearty laughter.

"Oh, quite the satisfying conversation! It was worth our time after all, despite being placed between the sword and the wall," said he with mirthful eyes. "I will have to face Vole, yes, but not without arguments to defend myself. Then all the credit can go to them, I'm sure; I need no more feats to polish my name and reputation."

"Then the best thing to do would be to quit the profession, Mr. Basil," quipped Mr. Hardwicke, light-hearted.

"Ha! Why should I quit when I'm the only one at my profession?" He chuckled again. "I invented it."

"The 'consulting detective'?"

"Aye! Whilst not entirely official, I am a standalone. Just because of that fact, I beg of you: do not mix me with the detective force. I am well beyond them."

We found a cab that was heading towards Knightsbridge, more concretely to Lower 21, Sloane Street. Along the way, Basil revealed his intentions concerning Mr. Andrew Vaughan.

"This is one of the times when I have a hunch I must follow, my friends," said he, "for if I don't, I might as well remain on a cave with no light whatsoever. Now, it is my suspicion that the Vaughans might be involved in some way so that _they_ are who the League is ultimately after and not you. It is not a strong lead, but I will not discard the possibility."

"It would make sense," said Mr. Hardwicke, "since dad was quite close to the family. But what confuses me is, if that were the case, why they would have attacked Elene first and not Mr. Andrew. Elene barely knew the Vaughans; we were only acquaintances."

"Do you know how old he is?"

"Not exactly," answered Mr. Hardwicke, "but I'd estimate he's around his forties, nearing them at least."

"Very well."

We soon reached Sloane Street. From then on, everything changed.

* * *

_A/N: Things will indeed change with their meeting with Andrew Vaughan. The case is building up and advancing. Any typos or comments you may want to point out, feel free to do so!_

_Reviews are appreciated!^^_


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